


Mountain Sound

by DrunkGerbil



Series: Of Monsters And Men [1]
Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Monster Hunters, First Kiss, First Time, Kidnapping, M/M, Murder, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27174458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DrunkGerbil/pseuds/DrunkGerbil
Summary: When children start disappearing in the mountain town of Greycott, monster hunter Jeremy Clarkson suspects an old and terrible foe of his to be responsible. Spurred on by his guilt and need to make things right, he sets out to lend his help to the people of Greycott, and stumbles on a mystery bigger than he ever expected.Luckily, another hunter followed the same traces. But who is he really? What is his goal in all this? And why are his teeth so shiny?
Relationships: Jeremy Clarkson & Andy Wilman, Jeremy Clarkson/Richard Hammond
Series: Of Monsters And Men [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922059
Comments: 8
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of a monster hunter au series that will develope into OT3
> 
> Titles inspired by the song “Mountain Sound” by Of Monsters And Men (you can see the theme? Good)

Sir Andrew Wilman has seen a lot over the years. It comes with the profession. As hunter, he has faced many of the evils the world had to offer, from tiny forest spirits causing malicious mischief, to great monsters tearing entire villages apart. Many a creature has died on his trusted blade before he’s been forced into retirement just over a year ago.  
He still fights battles today, albeit a different sort. Instead of beasts, he now handles paperwork. Some nights, he’d prefer wrestling a mad hobgoblin over being the master of a newfounded guild. 

Tonight is such a night.

It’s late, and Andy is hunched over the newest bounty posters and the guild’s balance sheets. The coffers are quite empty, and if they want to keep their lodgings in the tavern of Pebble Mill, they need some funds, and soon. Keeping his six hunters fed, clothed and armed is more expensive than most people would guess, and that’s without healer costs tallied in. That’s why they are all out on jobs at the moment, leaving Andy alone and in a grim mood in the tavern, drinking stale ale that the innkeeper only grudgingly pours.

Maybe tonight wouldn’t be all that bad, if it wasn’t for the plain, unassuming piece of paper resting to the side. A letter from a friend in Greycott that has reached Andy like many others do since the founding of the guild eleven moons ago. Requests for help, reports from sources all over the land, and rumors. This one isn’t different from the others in any obvious way. It holds a report of disappearances in Greycott.  
What monsters leave, more often than not, isn’t blood baths and carnage, but emptiness. Loved ones who don’t return home from a day’s work. Travellers who disappear somewhere on the road, unnoticed for weeks or months. It is people like Andy’s job to notice such patterns, to come when they are called for help, and to slay the beasts that are responsible. Business as usual for monster hunters.  
Special about this letter, however, is the way it makes his bad leg ache with the memory of a distant, cold night. He massages his thigh and tries to concentrate on his other papers again. Nothing to be done about it until some of his hunters return.

It is quiet in the bar room, this late. A handful of travellers that have booked a few rooms this evening are still up for a pint, chatting amicably. Townsfolk rarely wander in this late on a weekday. They have to wake in only a few precious hours for the upcoming day’s business, after all. Only when there is a tale of heroics to be heard, they come, turning the Pebble Mill tavern into a raucous pub filled with drunken singing and dancing and insufferable boasting. It’s been too long since their last good party, Andy muses, and reorders the papers on his table with a sigh. 

Then, the peaceful atmosphere gets broken. 

“Get away from me!” 

The yell from outside lets the chatter die down immediately. Some of the patrons spring from their seats when the front door bursts open. There is a commotion as a round man marches in, squelching with every step from the slime that covers him head to toe. Andy, who remains seated but has grabbed his crossbow from the bench beside him, is faced with the newest member of his guild. The usually unflappable and good-natured Jason Dawe sputters in rage. 

“Sir Wilman!” 

“Master Dawe,” Andy answers mildly after a once-over assures him that Dawe isn’t seriously wounded. 

“I am done!” Dawe yells, jabbing a finger at Andy, and then back at the open door, where Andy’s best and simultaneously worst man leans. “This guild is a joke! Your jobs are suicide, he’s insane, and I AM DONE!” 

With that, Dawe marches back out, glaring fiercely at his former partner as he passes, and slams the door shut. 

The silence in the tavern only lasts a few moments more, with the patrons shooting Jeremy uncertain looks. The innkeeper as well as the barmaids, used to such displays by now, only glare at Jeremy and Andy before going back to their own business. Dawe isn’t the first of Jeremy Clarkson’s partners of the last year to throw in the towel quite loudly. The new hunters love Jeremy for his bluster, his wildly exaggerated stories, his mad heroics - until they have to work with him, that is.

Jeremy swaggeres over, wearing a defiant expression. Andy sighs, and gestures to the bench opposite his own where Jeremy drops like a bag of stones. He leans back and waves to the barmaid for an ale. Unlike Dawe, he is relatively clean and in good humour. 

“What have you done this time?” Andy asks, not keeping the resignation out of his voice. 

“Really, Andy, I’m hurt. Why do you always think I did something?”

“Because you always do, you muppet, and you’re proud of it. Now spit it out, so we can both go on with our lives.”

Jeremy’s fake look of innocence witheres under Andy’s glare. Finally he leans forward with a sigh and starts explaining. 

“We were tracking that suspected kelpie in the swamps, as you know. Well, I was tracking a kelpie. Dawe was going on and on about how it couldn’t possibly be a kelpie because none of the locals have ever seen a mysterious horse or a beautiful girl in the boglands - like those damned things aren’t shapeshifters. Anyway, instead of traipsing along in a traditional manner, the kelpie was apparently trying out something new. An act of self-expression, I guess. Or it wanted to fit the scenery, whatever.”

“What did it look like?” Andy asks, not sure if he really wants to know when Jeremy starts grinning broadly.

“A giant toad.” 

“A giant toad,” Andy repeats. Jeremy nods gravely. They both take a swig from their ales. Then something occurs to Andy. 

“Why was Jason covered in slime?” He gestures at the footprints and drippage Dawe has left in his wake that a barmaid is scrubbing at with a miserable expression.

“Because the giant toad tried to swallow him whole,” Jeremy replies happily, and it dawns on Andy why they are a hunter short again. 

“Jeremy,” he asks, trying for calm but coming out tired more than anything else. “Did you use him as bait again?”

Jeremy exclaims defensively, “It’s a perfectly good tactic! Kelpies are way too clever to just pounce on two hunters. They will only attack when they can lure you in or surprise you, so we had to let ourselves be surprised.” 

“I’ve been doing this as long as you, I know how you hunt a kelpie! What I want to know is if you told Jason you planned to use him as bait before you did it!”

“Well, no, not as such, but-”

“Jeremy!”

“What?! I saved him afterwards, didn’t I? Frankly, I don’t understand what the problem is!” 

Andy empties his glass, trying not to throttle his oldest friend, before slamming it on the table and pressing out, “The man was only with us for two months. You’re going through partners like they’re clean undergarments after a piss-up.”

Jeremy huffs out a laugh. 

“What do I need a partner for?” he argues a moment later. “I’m perfectly fine on my own!”

“As your former partner, I know very well that’s a lie. And even if you were, there is safety in numbers.”

They’d been a good team, the two of them. Maybe the best. Mostly they’d been younger and stupider than they are today. It’s crazy how much you can grow in a year, or even just a night.  
Andy can’t go hunting anymore. With the new recruits that he forces on his former partner, despite how experienced they always claim to be, Jeremy often bemoans feeling like a babysitter. So far he has managed to scare them off in ever new and imaginative ways. 

“We are hunters, Jez,” he tries again. “In our trade you need someone to watch your back.”

“Lot of good that did you,” Jeremy answers, quiet and gruff. His eyes are on Andy’s leg, stretched out on a footstool next to the table. 

“Jezza,” he says, nearly pleading. 

“Don’t. I’ve heard it all before, and it changes nothing,” Jeremy answers with forced flippancy, and waves Andy’s reassurances away before they can even be uttered. Arguing with Jeremy is hopeless, once he’s gotten something into his head. Even if it is ludicrous. Even if it’s a guilt he shouldn’t bear. 

But personal feelings have to be put aside when there is work to do. 

“Now I really don’t want to give you this,” Andy says with a sigh, a hand settling on the dreaded letter. 

“What is it,” Jeremy asks, eager for the topic to change, and snatches it away without waiting for an answer. His eyes fly over the lines before they snap up to meet Andy’s again. 

“I’ll leave immediately.”

“No, you won’t,” Andy disagrees. “You’re only just back, and this is a job for a team. Take Porter and Kiff when they’re-” 

“Porter and Kiff are at least three days away still!” Jeremy yells, indignant. “Children are being taken. I’m not going to wait around when every night counts.” 

“Jeremy,” Andy interrupts his rant. “It sounds like-” 

“The Nightcock, I know!” Jeremy snaps, tense and obviously feeling just as unsettled as Andy does. They stare at each other, no need for words to convey their worries. They’ve been waiting for a lead like this, and still they are woefully unprepared. Finally, Andy says, “It could be all manner of things. I would feel better if you weren’t hunting for it on your own.” 

“It didn’t make a difference last time,” Jeremy grinds out, looking away, over to the bar and the guests at the far wall. His jaw works as he thinks.

“Fine,” he says after a moment. “Send the others after me as soon as they are home, but I will go now and investigate. Depending on what I find, I’ll wait for backup. Alright?” 

Andy studies him, and snorts. “No, but this is the best I’ll get from you. Get out of here. And be careful, for fuck’s sake.”

Jeremy stands and grins at his friend, and with a nod he storms up the stairs to his room in order to pack. 

~

The Nachtgeicher, as it is called in the far off province it originates from, can be translated to night cock, which had amused Jeremy and Andy terribly when they’d first heard of it over a year ago. They were travelling the lands north of the Black Boar Mountain range, two unbound monster hunters searching for fame and fortune. 

The Nightcock is a creature of legend, part man, part rooster. It appears only in the dark to steal children and revellers who aren’t home after the sunset. 

A couple of young lovers had disappeared in the woodlands surrounding a village. No trace, except for what resembled a giant chicken’s claw print in the damp earth. A minor boogeyman, Jeremy and Andy assumed after talking to the locals. Nothing they hadn’t dealt with before, or so they’d thought. Riding the high of a streak of successes, young and cocky and sure of their own immortality, they’d promised to slay the creature. 

More than just that promise was broken in the nights that followed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy reaches the miserable little town of Greycott, and finds an old friend who can tell him more about what's going on.

Located in the deep forests at the foot of the Black Boar Mountains, Greycott is a rather sleepy little town. Mainly inhabited by wood cutters on the outskirts and with a small town center, it’s just big enough for its tavern. The people of farmsteads in the region come to visit on market days, but only few travellers pass through on the western road, a secondary route to the city of Highpass up in the mountains. 

This time of year it’s perpetually rainy. Wafts of high fog shroud the hill tops and the tree crowns in thick, bleak grey. If it wasn’t for the mist, the mountains would tower above. 

Normally, the trip from Pebble Mill takes a good two weeks’ ride. Jeremy makes it in ten days. He rides atop his horse Alfa, feeling quite miserable for several reasons.  
The cold seeped into his bones five days ago, and hasn't left since. Alfa, beautiful, temperamental Alfa, desperately needs a rest after how Jeremy has pushed her. And of course the letter that sits heavily in his pocket. He has studied it in taverns and at the campfire, but hasn't come to any new conclusions. Kellham, the innkeeper of Greycott, addressed the letter to Andy. On their travels they have stayed in his tavern, the Bumbling Bear, several times before, so Kellham knew where to turn with his town’s problem: Five children have disappeared without a trace. 

Around noon Jeremy rides into town, and quickly notices the subdued mood. He sees it time and again, whenever a community has recently suffered an unexpected loss. It’s especially noticeable in a settlement so small, where everybody knows everybody. This strange, muted heaviness covers the houses, making the world feel eerily quiet. It only enhances the greyness of the weather and the people. 

Jeremy catches a few looks, suspicious and scared and hopeful at the same time, but nobody stops him as he heads straight for the inn.  
After the journey in the cold, foggy air, the Bumbling Bear with its open fire and strong beer is the most inviting sight he can imagine. It’s also nearly empty, and the innkeeper notices him immediately. 

“Clarkson, that you?” Kellham calls the second he’s through the door. Jeremy looks the part of monster hunter, so he’s hard to overlook in most settings, what with the height and the greatsword slung over his shoulder. 

“Kellham,” he greets as he steps to the bar. 

“Divinity, it’s good to see you, even if I wish it were under better circumstances. I rather hoped you’d come.”

“I left as soon as we received the letter,” Jeremy answers. A tankard of ale is set down in front of him, and he takes it gratefully. Nothing like the stale pisswater they always get in Pebble Mill. Then again, they haven’t caused any brawls or zombie plagues in Kellham’s tavern yet. 

"It's eerie, isn't it?” the old man murmurs. “How quiet it is out there." 

Jeremy hums his agreement. 

"Understandable, I suppose. If it was my grandkids missing," Kellham trails off, shaking his head. "I don't care about the lost business, I just want some peace for the families and safety for the rest of us." 

"That’s what I’m here for,” Jeremy answers. “It's been a whole month since the first disappearance, right?" 

"Yes,” Kellham sighs. He looks more aged than he ought to. “Let me get you something to warm you up, first. The journey must have been hell.” With those words, he disappears into the back. 

Jeremy leans back in his seat and takes a moment to glance in the direction of the few other patrons. A handful of laborers are at one table, having lunch. There is conversation, albeit a quiet and somber one. They, too, throw curious looks his way. By the time of nightfall, the whole town will know that he’s here, Jeremy’s sure.  
Just as he turns back to the bar, movement catches his eye. There in the corner behind one of the beams, a man is getting up from where he was sitting by himself. Their eyes meet briefly, and Jeremy arches an eyebrow at the dark look he receives from beneath an unkempt fringe. Then the man turns away and hurries out.

“Here you go,” Kellham declares on his return and puts a bowl of stew down in front of Jeremy. “It’s on the house.” 

It’s still steaming, and the flavour of meat and vegetables makes Jeremy’s mouth water. He digs in, finally filling his hungry stomach and warming up from the inside. 

Through a full mouth, he encourages Kellham to tell his tale.

“Jasper was first. The son of one of the wood cutters. Just didn't come home one night. At first we thought there might have been an accident, or that he'd run off. A bit of a trouble maker, that one. A few wood cutters went looking, but no trace of him. Then both daughters of the baker disappeared from the edge of town late one evening. Just about a week later. We realized something was wrong and organized a search. Tore through the forest. No sign of either of the kids. Another boy went missing a week after that, and his little brother on the day I sent the letter. Then yesterday," he stops short, shakes his head sadly, continues quietly, “Yesterday, the priest’s little girl disappeared.” 

Bloody hell. 

“Was she out alone, too?” Jeremy asks, his stomach cramping at what he hears. To his surprise, Kellham shakes his head. 

“Someone saw something?” Eye witnesses are always good, even if their reports are a jumbled mess of terrified nonsense. The slightest trace can lead to a culprit. 

“No, but that’s the strange thing! It was her da’ who was out with her,” Kellham says, bending forward over the bar. He lowers his voice further, as if telling a secret. 

“You see, he had her with him on his little horse cart. They were just getting back from visiting Jasper’s family - to comfort them, you know - since he didn’t want to leave her alone at home, the poor bastard. Something scared the horse, so the priest got off the cart to look, and there lay the doll of one of the baker’s girls. Just lying there, in a puddle in the middle of the road. He picked it up, and when he turned around to climb back on the cart, his girl was gone. Disappeared into thin air.”

Jeremy mulls that horrifying information over for a moment. What creature or spirit would operate like this? There are plenty who could pull off a disappearance act, but not many without leaving any traces. Then again, these people here might just not be able to interpret what they see. He needs to see the place for himself, and speak with the priest. 

At last, he asks, “Any rumors in the area?” If someone knows, it’s the innkeeper, and being informed about the local myths is always a good starting point.

“We’re in the Black Boar Mountains, there’s always talk of some beasts in the woods,” Kellham answers. “A crazed boar or a pack of wolves. There was a bear a few months ago that took a handful of travelers for her cubs, but the huntsmen killed it.”

“You know what I mean,” Jeremy interrupts impatiently. Kellham only shrugs. 

“We didn’t have anything worse than a few mean little ghost lights in years, and the kids know not to follow them.” 

Kids have the bad habit of seeing the excitement long before they see the danger. Following ghost lights as far as your courage allows had been a classic dare when Jeremy was young. He doubts the following generations have grown any wiser. 

“Did the search parties find anything? Anything at all? Strange animal carcasses, dead patches of forest, slime?” He only hesitates for a moment before he adds, “An oversized chicken’s foot print?”

Kellham shakes his head again. 

“Not that anyone told me, but you should ask the huntsmen. Thorben and Blakely. They led the groups.” 

Then, with a frown, he adds, “Blakely was just here a moment ago. Seems to have left.” 

“The grumpy fellow? A bit scabby?”

Kellham smiles, even if it’s a little tired. 

“I suppose. He’s a bit of an odd one, that Blakely, but a capable huntsman. His brother Thorben is more of a people person. You’ll probably want to talk to both o’ them anyway.”

Jeremy thinks for a moment, but there’s nothing more he wants to ask of Kellham, so he nods. 

“Yes, but I’d like to talk to the priest first.”

“Then I’ll have the stable lad point you in the right direction.” 

Jeremy is already out of his chair, gulping down the rest of his ale when Kellham adds, “Oh, and Clarkson? I do have to ask, if you allow the curiosity: What's the fad with the chicken feet?”

Jeremy nearly spits his drink out. 

“What?” he sputters. “ _Fad_?” His heart speeds up immediately.

“There was another one like you.” Kellham flicks his hand at Jeremy when he says it. “Hunter folk. He answered our call yesterday. Was here when the priest burst in with the dolly. He’s gone into the woods right after with the search party. When they returned this morning, they said he stayed behind.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier there was another hunter?!” Jeremy demands, loudly. Kellham takes a step back at his outburst, lifting his hands. 

“Didn’t think of it until just now. He was only here for a few minutes before the priest came rushing in. Didn’t even leave his name, you know? Just said he was a hunter and wanted to know about the disappearances. Short bloke, that one. Very excited."

"Excited?" Jeremy repeats in confusion.

"Yes. Lots of enthusiasm. Wanted to get to work. But he did ask all the same questions as you. Even about the chicken feet. I thought it odd, but now that you also asked ‘bout it..." 

For a moment Jeremy wonders if one of his own people has beaten him here, but that’s impossible. They are too far west, their way would have been longer, and Andy would have sent a pigeon if there had been changes in the plan. Also, none of his colleagues would normally be described as short or overly excited. 

An unknown monster hunter, maybe even from another guild. And he knows about the Nightcock. 

“Did someone tell you why he stayed out in the forest?” Jeremy questions, trying not to let his turmoil show and probably failing. 

“Not that I remember,” Kellham responds. “But he was with Blakely.”

Jeremy nods, and gets to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigations in Greycott continue.

The stable lad that Kellham lent Jeremy as guide leads him to the chapel, where the priest is pouring oils into the bowls on the altars. The smell of burning spices is heavy in the air, the flickering lights painting the walls in dancing shadows. Jeremy tries to keep the talk short, or else the smoke might go to his head. It’s no hardship, because the priest, a man in his thirties and widower, doesn’t know much about the disappearance of his daughter or any of the other children. 

He explains that it wasn’t all that late when they left Jasper’s family, but heavy rain and muddy paths meant that it was quite dark already by the time they were nearing Greycott. Only fifteen minutes out the horse was spooked and wouldn’t go further, so the priest got off the cart to find out what the problem was. He didn’t see any movement, not even from the corner of his eye, when he bent down to pick up that doll. There was nothing to hear over the howl of the wind in the trees, either. When he turned back around, his five year old was simply gone. 

“I am praying to the Divinity for Kathy and the others to be alright,” he mumbles at the end, blinking quickly but not quite keeping the tears from spilling over. “I will ask them to guide you.” 

Jeremy’s talk with the huntsmen is just as fruitless information-wise, if a lot stranger. 

The house of the huntsmen is at the edge of town, a small main building with several work sheds scattered on the property. Animal hides are stretched out to dry on wooden frames, and greenish smoke is puffing out of the chimney from where the leather is being tanned. It smells accordingly, and Jeremy has to breathe through his mouth for a moment when the door opens and a middle aged man greets him with a smile. 

“You must be the hunter who came into town,” he says jovially enough, and takes a step back from the door. “Please come in, I’m sure you have questions.”

“Jeremy Clarkson. News travels fast here,” Jeremy comments, and lets his eyes adjust to the gloomy insides. The table in the middle of the room is covered in tools and various bits of dead animal. The walls are lined by antlers and horns of different sizes, both from beasts Jeremy recognizes, and some he’s never seen before. Twisted horns, twenty-pointers, or tiny knobbly bonecrowns. A stuffed wolpertinger is sitting on a shelf. 

In the corner, he spots the man who’d fled from the pub earlier, scraping fat from a deer pelt. 

“Yes. My brother Blakely told me of your arrival, master Clarkson. My name is Thorben,” the friendly huntsman answers, ushering Jeremy to the table in the middle of the room. He pushes some tools aside to make room for them to sit. 

It’s uncanny, the difference between the brothers. Thorben seems to be of a rather sunny disposition, friendly to a fault, with dimples and a spatter of freckles left from summer. Next to him Blakely seems cold and pale. While he doesn’t talk with his mouth, when he bothers to look up from his work, his eyes speak louder than any words, in glares at Jeremy and unreadable squints at his brother. 

It’s hard to tell which of them is older from the grime on their faces and the muscles of their arms. They are huntsmen, used to life in the woods, weathered by sun and wind and ice. 

Unbothered by Blakely’s refusal to speak, Thorben is more than happy to answer all of Jeremy’s questions instead. 

“It’s been raining for weeks, the street and the paths are a swamp, and it gets only worse the higher you go. The rainwater takes the same paths as the meltwater in spring,” Thorben explains. “It’s turning quaint little streams into torrents. We looked anyway, of course. Without much luck.”

“Any footprints?”

“Only human and animal,” Thorben continues. “Nothing at all monstrous. Now, of course, the feet of all the search parties have turned the quagmire unreadable.”

Thorben couldn’t gather much from where the children vanished, either, since the disappearances happened in places that people frequent. The street, the edge of town, the lumber camp. Well frequented to make the people feel secure, but secluded enough to allow for an unobserved abduction after sunset. 

“The dogs,” a rumble from the corner of the room sounds, and Jeremy has almost forgotten that Blakely is there. He turns, trying to catch the other man’s eye, but he stares stubbornly at where his knife is still scraping the hide clean. 

“What about them?”

“The dogs lead us northwest at first.” 

Nothing more is forthcoming, so Jeremy turns back to Thorben with a questioning look. 

“Right they did,” Thorben says. “Deeper into the forest in the beginning, when the wood cutter boy went missing. The hillsides turn into sheer cliffs up there, and the paths into animal trails. Back then it wasn’t raining so bad yet, but we couldn’t find any fresh tracks either. Eventually, we gave up.” With the shake of his head, he sadly adds, “The dogs must have smelled something old. Or prey. Unruly buggers, they are.” 

Or they are dealing with something that can scale a sheer cliff. Spider People, maybe? Or what if the creature can fly? The harpies notorious around Highpass could theoretically make a detour down the mountain, but usually they don’t have a special preference for children, or for quiet attacks by night. Nothing subtle about a harpy. 

There’s always the possibility that it’s the Nightcock, a thought Jeremy can’t shake. Like a cold hand almost touching the back of his neck. Like the memory of the growing fear that he knows will seize his entire body and make him unable to move, to breathe, to _think_.   
The fact that there are no clues to find, no trace of the children, and no hint at what is at play here, speaks for itself. They never did find out what the Nightcock actually did with the people it takes. It has caused many a sleepless night for both Jeremy and Andy. 

His musings lead Jeremy to finally ask about his supposed colleague, and Thorben nods. 

“Ah, yes. A young bloke. I was a bit surprised when he told us he’s a hunter.”

“Oh?” Jeremy prompts. 

“Yes. Not much on him, you know? Only had a poker of a sword, too. Not like you,” Thorben grins a little, nodding at Jeremy’s greatsword. 

“But we took him with us anyway, of course. Everyone who wants to help is welcome.”

“What’s his name again?”

“You know, I don’t think I caught it. Blake?” Thorben turns to his brother. 

“‘M sure he said. Talked a lot,” is the only answer, and Jeremy is hard pressed not to roll his eyes. 

"And where did you leave him?" he asks, hoping the huntsmen didn’t forget _everything_ in the last day. The bloke, whoever he is, has asked after a big chicken footprint. Jeremy _needs_ to talk to him, even if this all turns out to be something completely different. There is another monster hunter this side of the mountains who knows _something_. 

Blakely shrugs. 

"He said he wanted to stay out in the forest. I told him he'd get wet to the bones and freeze, but - well… monster hunter folk. I lead him to some caves." 

Monster hunter folk indeed. He must have found _something_ if he'd been willing to stay out in this weather. But why alone? And why not tell his guide about it?

“How far out was it?”

“A few hours. It’s hard going in the mud.”

Jeremy internalizes a sigh. If he wants to meet the hunter, he’s looking forward to another night of sleeping under rain-heavy clouds when all he wants is a warm bed in the Bumbling Bear. The alternative is wasting a perfectly good afternoon, though, and anything could happen in the upcoming night. 

"Can you take me to where you left him?"

“Certainly!” Thorben pipes up, eternally helpful. He gets up immediately.

“Why,” Blakely asks, gruffly. “I took the other one. I know where it was that I left him. I can show this one.” 

Thorben hesitates for a moment, his smile strained, but just as Jeremy starts to arch an eyebrow at the both of them, he laughs a little and answers, "I know, I know; you’re right. I’m just worried. Be careful out there." 

Without another word, Blakely gets up, shoulders a crossbow, and marches out the door. Jeremy blinks after him for a second before hurrying out as well, hot on his heels.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeremy and the huntsman are heading for Legbreak Ravine.

Trekking through the woods becomes arduous very quickly. The ground is either mud or a thick carpet of moss and dead leaves. Both cases lead to sopping wet socks and cold feet. Jeremy has stopped feeling his toes a few hours ago. The smell of petrichor and earth fills his nostrils.

At first, he tries to tickle any kind of information out of his guide. What the other hunter might have found, what kind of person he seemed to be, if anything appeared off. Blakely only graces him with hums and scoffs, or one syllable answers when he _really_ needs to speak. 

So Jeremy settles for complaining, instead. There is enough to complain about, in his opinion. He has the feeling Blakely tunes him out fairly quickly, lost in his own world, but that doesn't stop Jeremy's mouth from running. 

Therefore it takes a while to notice, but there’s a droning in the distance - one that speaks of a lot of angry water - and it’s getting continuously louder. 

Blakely only mutters, “Legbreak Ravine,” when Jeremy inquires, which is not inspiring confidence.  
To their right rocks are rising high above their heads. Nearly vertical, only moss grows on the cliff’s face, and rainwater is dripping down in constant, trickling rivulets. To their left the hill slopes downwards. One doesn’t see much in that direction either, since bushes and dead wood stuck between their living brethren obstruct the view. 

What Jeremy can see, up ahead, is another cliff. It’s at an angle to the one they have walked along for the past two hours. Where they meet their narrow path takes a sharp turn that leads between the two walls of stone. Then, the roaring of water finally makes sense. The slope to the left turns into a steep decline and ahead, between the cliffs, a ravine opens. Thousands of years of meltwater finding its way down into the valleys has eroded the stone, cutting a deep gorge like a sword into flesh. 

Their path turns into a narrow ledge that leads into the ravine, several meters above the ripping torrent. Blakely leads them in with a sure step.  
It feels like walking into a cathedral. The sunlight, already stunted by the heavy cloud cover, barely reaches down into the canyon, and the wind sweeps through it like the breath of a great sleeping beast. The roaring of the waters below drowns out every other sound, and Jeremy suppresses a shudder at the ominous feeling creeping up his back. The path is so narrow, Jeremy could easily step off the ledge to his left without taking his hand off the stone to his right. It’s also slick from rain and moss and the torrents spraying up out of their bed. One wrong step is all it would take. 

Would he drown, he wonders, or would he die broken by the stone the wild flood would shatter him against?

What distracts him from these somber thoughts is his guide, or rather his strange behavior. Blakely’s tense, has grown tenser the closer they have gotten to this ravine, and Jeremy has an inkling it’s not because of the dangerous footing. The huntsman, knowing the terrain well, is ever increasing his speed, to the point where Jeremy follows in an insane slip slide in order to keep up. Every time he catches sight of Blakely’s face, there’s a haunted look in his eyes. It’s not directed at Jeremy, though. Blakely seems to have almost forgotten that he’s there at all. 

“Are we there yet?” Jeremy asks, trying to sound offhand and bored. He has to shout over the droning of the waters below.

“Yeah. It’s just around the corner,” Blakely growls, uttering the longest sentence in several hours, and speeds up again. He’s nearly running now. 

"What's going on?" Jeremy demands, and then, suddenly, Blakely talks. 

"I got to know!” he shouts back. There’s something manic in his voice that makes Jeremy’s hand itch for the handle of his sword. “I got to know if they took 'im, too." 

"Who? Do you know who’s responsible for the disappearances?”

Blakely shakes his head, hurrying along, but Jeremy grabs for his arm. He holds on, tight enough to leave marks, and Blakely throws him a look so full of anger and fear that he almost lets go again.

“What have you done?" Jeremy tries to sound calm, but can’t keep the edge out of his voice. 

"Nothing!” Blakely shouts. “I've done nothing! That's the problem!"

Both his voice and his body are shaking. He rips himself free with a wrench, sprints up the path like they aren’t in a place Called Legbreak Ravine. Jeremy follows suit, cursing internally, panting, only to almost stumble into Blakely’s back when he suddenly comes to a halt. 

It’s only now that Jeremy realizes they’re at the mouth of a cave, well hidden in the shadow behind an outcrop. He would have walked right past it.  
Not much light finds its way inside, and even through squinting, Jeremy can’t see a thing. Blakely, he notes, has gone pale. He doesn’t move, just stares ahead into the cave. 

“Is this the place where you left the other hunter? What’s in there?” Jeremy grates out, deeply unsettled by this strange behaviour. He’d feel so much better if he could draw his sword, but on the narrow ledge it would be impossible to swing. 

“Nothing,” Blakely repeats, the word so faint it barely carries over the rushing water. Then, he steps inside. Jeremy stares after him, confused and irate, and pulls a dagger from his side rather than the greatsword from his back. It wouldn’t do him any good in the confines of the cave, either.

Inside, in the twilight, the blackened remains of a campfire are the only thing speaking of someone’s presence. Otherwise, the small cave is empty. No sign of the other hunter. Jeremy, never letting Blakely out of his sight, bends to trace his fingers over the coals. They aren’t warm anymore, haven’t been for a long time. The fire must have died well in the night. Blakely touches the wood as well. 

Without warning, he sacks in on himself and, to Jeremy’s endless shock, starts sobbing. 

With no idea what to do, Jeremy hovers awkwardly behind him, his free hand stretched out but not touching, the other holding on to the dagger ever tighter. He’s not going to be lured into a trap that easily, but a grown man’s breakdown doesn’t sit well with him either. He isn’t the comforting type.

“Blakely,” he says, carefully. “Tell me what’s going on.”

There’s a long pause before the huntsman speaks, his voice rough. 

"I just let 'im do it. There was no bear, but I pretended there was. Never said anything. They were only strangers, and he said it was to protect the town."

The cold, nervous feeling in his gut hardens into a ball of ice. He’s ready to press his blade to Blakely's neck and demand answers. But first, he kicks the crossbow out of Blakely’s slack hand. It skitters off to the side, and the huntsman doesn’t even react. He just keeps on blubbering, mute in his despair. 

“Who? What have you done to the hunter? Where are the children?” Jeremy demands, forcing Blakely’s face up with the tip of his knife. He’s met by a blotchy, snotty grimace, but no words. Wet breaths are the only sound emanating from the huntsman, and Jeremy quickly loses his patience. He shoves him away, to the floor, and roars, “I _asked you_ where the children are, you bastard!”

“Don’t waste your time, Clarkson. He knows nothing,” a voice from behind him says, and when Jeremy whirls around, he is staring at the business end of a crossbow. 

“Thorben.” 

The jovial smile from earlier has morphed into something ugly, malicious. Jeremy’s eyes dance over his frame, his face, looking for clues. A monster vaguely resembling a man? His pupils are round, his skin flushed from the journey, his teeth are present in a normal quantity and shape. No scales hidden by lapels or long sleeves, no claws, no marks. Just a man.

“Drop the dagger,” Thorben orders, and Jeremy obeys only when the huntsman cocks his crossbow with a frustrated grunt. Metal clatters on stone. Jeremy hopes his glare burns a hole into Thorben’s forehead. 

“What did you do with the children?” he asks again, because he might as well. Perhaps it’s his only chance for some answers. If he’s really unlucky, it’s his _last_ chance. 

“You’ll see soon enough, I should think,” the huntsman answers. 

“Why?” Blakely whimpers, still sprawled on the floor where Jeremy left him. “Why, Thorb? I didn’t say anything about the foreigners, but these were our kids!”

“I’ll explain later,” Thorben placates, not taking his eyes off his target. 

“NO! Explain now!”

“Shut up! You live in your tiny little world in Greycott, you know _nothing_! I’ll explain- stop! One more move and you’re dead!” Thorben screams, focussing back on Jeremy after his brother’s distraction. The hand that had inched its way to the greatsword’s pommel freezes midair. 

Thorben shakes himself, and with a shuddering sigh and a truly dark glare, he returns to his previous calm. 

“Blakely, take his sword.” 

Blakely doesn’t move. His wide, unbelieving eyes have stopped leaking by now, but he still looks shocked, pale and shivery and at the end of his rope. 

When there’s no reaction forthcoming, Thorben sighs, and orders Jeremy to unfasten the scabbard and drop it himself. 

“No more funny business,” he ends with, giving the crossbow a nudge. 

Jeremy starts unbuckling the leather straps holding the scabbard on his shoulder. It feels like undressing, but then again, he always feels naked without his sword. When all the buckles are undone, Jeremy shrugs the scabbard from his shoulder into his hands. Thorben twitches, but keeps on staring at him expectantly. Jeremy’s fingers tighten. 

“What did you do with the other hunter,” he asks, holding eye contact. 

Thorben laughs, shakes his head. 

“Me? Nothing. He was alive when I left last night. It’s what happens up in the castle that you should worry about.”

Jeremy nods, looks down at the scabbard, makes to drop it. Instead, he tosses it at Thorben with as much force as he can. 

Thorben flinches, badly. So badly, in fact, that his crossbow momentarily swivels away from Jeremy’s face. The shot goes wild, metal clinking off stone with a high pitched zing. Jeremy doesn’t hesitate. Jumping forward, he barrels Thorben over.  
Blakely’s startled shout goes ignored.  
As they ring on the wet ground, slipping and sliding, Thorben’s fist lands square in Jeremy’s face. He answers by rolling on top of Thorben to return the favor only for the huntsman to use his momento and roll them over again. But Jeremy, considerably taller and broader, bucks him off. He follows, immediately, and before Thorben can get his feet under him, he has Jeremy on top, hands around his neck. 

He squeezes tight. 

Thorben’s hands wrap around his wrists, twist and pull, but strangling is surprisingly easy from this angle. Jeremy’s weight is working for him, keeping the huntsman down even through his struggling. 

“Stop!” Blakely shouts from somewhere behind them, high pitched and almost hysteric, finally woken from his stupor. 

Thorben keeps on bucking, blind fear in his eyes, but without sufficient breath making its way down into his lungs, he weakens by the second. Jeremy counts in his head. It’s not often he fights people, but he vaguely remembers from many a pub brawl in his younger days how long it takes for unconsciousness to take a man. He has questions, after all. Questions only Thorben can answer.

“I said _stop_!” Blakely growls, close now, his voice hard when before it had been a wispy wail.  
For a split second Jeremy knows that he miscalculated. _Brothers_ , he thinks, and of Andy and the promise he’s given him.

Then the world goes dark.


End file.
